Off the Grid
by lankypanky
Summary: One of Norman's earlier cases - semi-prequel to Heavy Rain, semi-sequel to my own story, "Never as Good as the First Time," with one recycled character from it.
1. Chapter 1

"Aaron, Boom-boom's here and he wants to talk to someone."

Deputy Aaron Banks sighed back at her over the ancient intercom system. "Bernie, I officially authorize you to be 'someone.' If it sounds like nonsense after five minutes, just thank him and tell him we'll call." Aaron had no idea where they'd actually call Boom-boom _at_, since the guy hadn't had a permanent phone number since his last stay in jail, but, knowing Boom-boom, it hardly mattered.

"I don't think that's gonna do it this time," Bernie protested. The station was so small that Aaron could also hear Boom-boom's voice both faintly through his closed door and over the intercom. It sounded indignant. He could hear Bernie as well as she started to panic: "Sweetie, I know you're a big important man, but I really think you need to handle this." There was an anxious edge in her voice.

"All right, Bernie, I'll be right out." Aaron rolled his eyes as he slid his hat on and hefted his solid farmboy frame into motion. If there was one thing he didn't want to do today, it was arresting Boom-boom for another drunk & disorderly. And if Boom-boom was at the station and scaring Bernie, he was almost _certainly_ drunk & disorderly.

Reception was its usual stretch of boring desolation sprinkled with spots of crazy. There was almost nobody in there, but Jimmy Carpenter was on his usual bench – the man was in his eighties and a WWII vet, so they tried not to complain when he came in every day to explain how Kennedy had been killed by the CIA, they just listened and thanked him politely. Aaron could almost immediately identify that hollow-cheeked woman, in the corner, too – looked like Rick had maybe finally gotten a hooker to come in to identify that greasy little pimp who was actually daring to have his girls walk Main Street. Good. And, of course, there was five feet four of Boom-boom, dressed in gear from the army/navy surplus store, dancing around the reception desk in front of Bernie like somebody was lighting firecrackers under his feet.

"Aaron," Bernie told him, "Mr. Corning needs to see a deputy." Sweaty, her pancake makeup running, her two hundred wheezing pounds were a silent demand that they give in and turn on the air conditioning, even though it was only May. Aaron was willing to bet that _that_ was the real reason she'd refused to deal with Boom-boom on her own – that if she bugged everyone enough by refusing to get out of her chair when it was so humid, they'd give in and switch it on.

"Gonna show the man, gonna show the man, gonna show the man," Boom-boom was muttering, shifting around in a little dance that was almost elegant.

"Boom-boom, you look like you had a real long day," Aaron was already starting. "Jimmy here's been waiting for a while – ain't you, Jimmy? – and we better listen to him first, but we're a little busy." They were, of course, nothing of the sort. Not much of import tended to happen around this Texas panhandle county sheriff's office – but, frankly, even listening to Jimmy's old story was usually more rewarding than dealing with ratty little Boom-boom.

Boom-boom, indignant, had jammed his legs down straight and begun rooting around in his ancient backpack. "I knew you were going to treat me like I didn't know a thing," he said. "Like I didn't know what I was talking about."

"I really don't know what you're trying to talk about," Aaron told him. "All's I know is I see your face in here too much."

"You just tell me you don't believe me _now_," Boom-boom yelled triumphantly, and that was when he slammed what looked like a withered monkey's paw down on the counter around the reception desk.

* * *

><p><strong>From the files of H. Carruthers, Assistant Special Agent in Charge – ARI Division – FBI Headquarters, Washington DC.<strong>

**Report # ARI-47023-TX-001**

**Date: [REDACTED]**

**Investigation in re: ARI incident, [REDACTED] County, Texas**

_In light of the unfortunate incident involving SA Norman Jayden, and the resulting difficulty in understanding the information provided by his ARI, Director Fletcher has asked for my assistance in compiling information to prepare an official report. As per my capacity as ARI SAIC, the majority of my own contribution to the report largely consists of notes on the technical and medical aspects of the ARI involvement in the case. As the full report indicates, I arrived on site only after case's major events; therefore, all information regarding the case history and events before my arrival are pulled from SA Jayden's ARI notes. I have given reasonable context for these notes; the full files may be accessed only by those with sufficient clearance via the associated electronic appendix. _

_Please see the executive summary for full recommendations re: potential disciplinary actions, further ARI field use, allocating field assignments for other ARI agents, and interaction with local law enforcement to prevent future negative incidents._

* * *

><p>What they'd wanted, what they'd asked for, was someone from the FBI who could nail up tight the jar of worms that Boom-boom had unexpectedly opened. Someone who would just swoop in and take care of <em>everything<em>. Aaron envisioned a federal agent the size of Tex Bunyan, who had guns peeking out of every crevice. At least, someone who could match him in armwrestling. What they got was Norman Jayden, who Aaron outweighed by at least fifty pounds in muscle alone.

Aaron had trouble even finding him at the airport; he waited out in his squad car for ages, then called Bernie again to make sure he hadn't screwed up the flight time. He ended up talking to a long string of airline employees before he found his way to the lost baggage counter. There was an anemic-looking man in a dark suit there there, yelling so hard at the desk clerk that his voice was cracking like a teenager's. The bulky guy behind the desk was Ted Conklin, a man Aaron had arrested once for domestic battery charges, but looked now like he was trying to desperately escape the confrontation he was currently locked in. Aaron sighed. It figured.

"Agent Jayden?" he asked. "I'm Deputy Banks. There a problem?"

The other man's head whipped towards him. "I don't have any goddamned clothes," he snapped, immediately. "They've lost my bags. Does this little rathole even qualify as an airport?"

Aaron counted to three to check his own temper before he answered. "Not exactly a major hub, out here. You look like you had a rough flight. If Ted there has your info, there ain't much else he can do. Let me take you to your motel, yeah?"

"_Fuck_ my motel," the FBI agent snapped at Aaron. It wasn't just his face that was relatively colorless; even the man's eyes were so pale that his darker hair and suit made him look ghostly. "I just want to get to work, and I can't work without any goddamned clothes."

Aaron, still reeling from the f-bomb, was harsher in his response than he would have been if he'd thought it through: "Well, you're wearing some now. Yellin' at Ted ain't gonna get you any more."

Norman Jayden was still holding up an accusatory index finger towards the man behind the counter, though he had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed at Aaron's mild rebuke. "No," he admitted. "It's not. The most important stuff I need is all in my briefcase, I guess, and I kept hold of that. Thank Christ I didn't check my gun. Four dead women?" Ted, who had started to relax as Agent Jayden stopped yelling, looked freshly spooked.

"Four so far for sure," Aaron replied. "We found some other weird stuff out there with 'em in the last couple of hours. I'll get you back in the loop. Can we, uh. Can I tell you about it in the car? We'll just make sure Ted here has your name and everything. Ted, he's gonna be staying at the Valentine Inn, if his stuff comes in."

"The _Valentine_?" Ted looked dubious. "The one off 83? Really?"

"Really," Aaron hastily assured him. "You know to get a hold of me if you have trouble tracking him down, okay Ted? Agent Jayden, we should probably get moving if you want to get filled in before shift change."

The FBI agent was starting to look a little unsettled himself, now. He finally curled that indignant finger in towards his palm. "Please," he said. "I can deal with only having one suit, but I'm not gonna wander around a crime scene for a week in the same pair of underwear."

Aaron couldn't blame him; the guy already looked a little grimy from his trip. "I'll make sure we do something about it. Get you directions to the Kmart."

". . . Kmart," Agent Jayden replied, his scowl reintensifying. "Jesus, just shoot me. Okay, show me your corpses, I guess."


	2. Chapter 2

**Report # ARI-47023-TX-001**

**ASAIC H. Carruthers commentary:** _The initial request for an ARI agent to assist in investigating the case in question indicated a low-priority incident, given both the relatively small number of remains found and the age of the remains recovered at that date. SA Jayden's lack of experience in performing field work was therefore not considered a major consideration when assigning him to the case; he was initially expected only to fully flesh out FBI records and provide a potential psychological profile to check against other case histories of a similar age. His pre-site and early site notes therefore both reflect this approach to the assignment; it should be noted that their format and tone, which are clearly not in keeping with departmental standards, are results of his being unable to prepare a final, formal report. The following selections, unless otherwise indicated, are from his actual typed notes, rather than verbal ARI recordings._

**SA Jayden pre-site notes:** _Check see where this county's g****** records are. Why so few? Check if other county with same/similar name to account for problem. Initial reports of site confusing/poorly diagrammed, insufficient evidence for profile formation. Time overlap w/several other murders on record, depending on Medical Examiner's later clarification; no clear match for geography/psych profile in either solved or unsolved. Hope in-person review of site to aid; maybe site's arrangement not too disturbed by investigation, though doubt it. Who did I piss off so much that they're sending me to Bumf***, Nowhere, Texas? _

* * *

><p>Aaron led the way out to his squad car, which he'd lazily left purring in what was technically a towaway zone, its air conditioning still running. It was too early in the year for the day to be a total scorcher, but it was still awfully warm out, even in the shade. "Like to put your briefcase in the trunk?" he suggested to the FBI agent.<p>

"No," came the swift response, and Aaron couldn't refrain from raising his eyebrows a little as the pale man tucked the case tightly under his armpit in response, entering the car. "I don't particularly feel like letting it out of my sight, not after the fuckup with my luggage. There's important stuff in here. Confidential stuff. What's the deal with the motel? The Valentine, you said? Is there something weird about it? Why was the Mensa reject back there so surprised by the name?"

"All right. Well." Aaron squirmed a little, uncomfortably, as he snapped his seat belt into place. The drive was already going to be unpleasant enough without having to confess the Valentine's dirty secrets as the first order of business. "You gotta understand that there ain't hardly _nothin'_ out there where we found those bodies. Hardly anybody lives out there, even. Half of the county is just owned by these big out-of-state land speculation companies that've never done anything with it. I guess somebody from your department told my department that you wanted to be as close to the scene as possible, though. So we got you a room at the Valentine. It's not the nicest place, but it is the closest one."

Agent Jayden grumbled something between his teeth that Aaron didn't quite catch before he followed it up, more loudly, with, ". . . just how primitive are we talking, here?"

"Oh, they got cable and that," Aaron assured him as they pulled on to the appropriate county road. "Just lock your door and you'll be fine."

"I was more concerned about Intern- wait, lock my _door_?"

"Wellllll," Aaron drawled; he didn't look, but could feel the other man staring at him. The FBI agent was so unexpectedly fussy that the deputy was actually starting to enjoy this a little. "The place has gotten a lot better since the new manager. But it's called the Valentine because you can get rooms by the hour, if you know what I mean. Most of what they get there is still long-haul truckers who don't feel like sleeping in the cab for a night, and sometimes they have ladyfriends they picked up a little ways down the road. Like I said, you should be all right as long as you don't leave your door unlocked, because sometimes there's some problems with drunks wandering in to the rooms. But we ain't had a drug bust out there for maybe a month now."

There was just silence from the passenger side of the car; Aaron finally shot a glance in that direction. The FBI agent had narrowed his eyes and was squinting out the windshield in obvious irritation, slowly shaking his head. "I thought small towns were supposed to be America's heartland or some shit like that," he grumbled.

"Well, and who says we're not?" Aaron was beginning to feel almost cheerful at the ludicrousness of it all. It had been a terrible few days – the county sheriff's office was totally unprepared for the challenges that came with discovering what was apparently a quadruple homicide site, and the strange tangle of jurisdictional provenance between the county sheriff, the nearest town police, and now, the FBI, had made things even more confusing. If there was one thing Aaron hated, it was a murder case; if there was something he hated more, it was red tape. Even though Sheriff Walters had been moaning about "Washington big shots" sticking their noses where they weren't wanted, Aaron had been looking forward to dumping the whole mess in somebody else's lap. He didn't quite approve of the lap in question he'd been given, but at least this Washington big shot wasn't terribly intimidating. "So, you want we should go to the Valentine first? Or just straight out to the site?"

"Well, there's no point in stashing my luggage, since I don't have any now. Let's go see your site. Tell me about what's out there. You found new stuff since I was last updated?"

"Yeah," Aaron confirmed. "It's a whole mess. I'm not even gonna try to check in on the way," he nodded at the crackling radio. "Might as well just get the rest of the story once we get back out here. I'm not even entirely sure I know what the new stuff _is_, just that –"

"Hold on," the agent said, fussing with his inside coat pocket, "Stop talking until I can get my ARI on."

"You what now?" Aaron genuinely hadn't understood what had been said.

"I need to put on my ARI. My glasses. Sunglasses. All my notes are in my glasses." He yanked a dark pair of glasses out of the same pocket he'd been fumbling with, and brandished them briefly in front of the deputy before slipping them onto his face.

"What?" Maybe Aaron hadn't picked up an FBI agent at all, maybe he'd simply put a fairly well-dressed homeless maniac into his squad car. He probably should have asked to see the man's identification. "You wrote your notes on the inside of your glasses?"

"Mmm-hmm," replied Agent Jayden absently; apparently not listening terribly hard. He pulled on one glove as though he were a cracker version of Michael Jackson, and tensed his fingers a few times in mid-air. "Easier to sort that way."

"All right," Aaron said, politely. This was just supposed to be pick-up-the-FBI-guy-at-the-airport duty, not surreal-conversation duty. It had suddenly become like talking with Boom-boom. "How are your notes in your glasses?"

"My ARI. Weren't you told what it is I do? Usually we only get sent out when we're specifically requested; there aren't a lot of us to go around." His voice was hovering somewhere between smugness and irritation over Aaron's ignorance. "ARI is A. R. I. It's an abbreviation for Added Reality Interface. It's just a way to store information so that – look, it's like a computer I wear as glasses. It's extremely important. It's why they sent me. But you don't need to worry about it."

"I . . . all right. What . . ." staring incredulously at the FBI agent, Aaron nearly missed a turn. "Uh. Well, I can't see your notes. What do you need?"

Agent Jayden was now apparently _completely_ off in la-la land. The guy was now fiddling with the empty air in front of his face for no apparent reason, with his briefcase balanced primly on his knees. "Let me take it from the top. You've got four corpses you found in shallow graves in a semi-circle, all buried in what look like ritualized positions. Your local ME's best guess is that they're all adult women, varying ages, who all look like they've been there maybe twenty years?"

"Yessir. All about the same time, though they were still working on just what time that was. They were looking at the bodies and then some of the jewelry and things that was down there with them. Not all of them are complete bodies, but it looks like maybe they were buried intact and then coyotes and whatnot got some bits of 'em, more than that they were cut up before they got put there. They're all pretty well rotted away, so the medical examiner's mostly just shrugging over cause of death right now. Some parts are mostly bones, some are more sort of like mummies. We got people out here who just like to bury their dead on their own property, but it don't seem like that could be what's happened. Someone'd remember four women from one family all dying together twenty years ago, but nobody does. So I guess it could all be a mistake, but probably not. Not old enough to be Indian ruins or nothing like that."

"And you don't know who any of them are?"

"Not a one," Aaron admitted. "Not yet."

The agent's lips thinned disapprovingly. "Do you have a _lot_ of missing person cases from twenty years ago?"

Aaron bristled slightly. "Enough," he answered. "Some of the records from back then aren't the greatest." He was hedging more than a little with this last bit of information.

"Hmph," replied Agent Jayden, and Aaron groaned inwardly, knowing that Bernie would almost certainly have not done anything about the godawful mess that was their paperwork history before this man started poking around in it. "So the basics haven't changed, then? I'd like to look at the details of each body and the scene itself when I get out there. What's the new information you were talking about?"

"Well, we don't even know if it's connected. Right by all the women, right where their feet were all pointing, there were . . . more bones, and some other stuff. Some animal parts, I guess, and some old money, and other things. I was leaving to come get you just as they were starting to figure out what it was. I don't even know if any of those bones were human or not; maybe they've figured it out by now." Aaron stared as the other man's hands tapped out a rapid tattoo on the blank surface of the briefcase in his lap; he looked like he was typing on a keyboard that didn't exist.

"So this all started with one severed hand? You didn't know about it until someone gave you a hand? I'm confused by what happened."

"Well, Boom-boom brought it in, just about having conniptions. It's one of the ones that's sort of like a mummy. He mostly comes in with crazy stuff he's made up, so we weren't ready for a hand of a real dead person. I guess he saw one of the bodies that had come out of the ground a little ways and just yanked off the hand because he didn't want to haul the whole body in when he told us about it. Boom-boom's not really all there, most of the time."

". . . boom-boom?"

"I _do_ apologize." Aaron actually had to dig in his memory for a second for the man's legal name. "You got a Sam Corning in your notes? In your glasses?"

"Yes. Samuel Corning, Esquire."

Aaron smirked. "I forgot he did that law degree by mail the first time he got sent to prison for a couple years. Pretty sure he ain't got a valid license at this point. We call him 'Boom-boom,' because he was so bad at running a meth lab he blew up his house. We still got him in a cell because he couldn't make bail after I arrested him for abuse of a corpse, if you want to talk to him. But he probably won't be that useful."

"Mm. We'll see." And with that, Agent Jayden apparently simply dismissed Aaron's presence, though he continued to fiddle with his briefcase and the air in front of him, muttering inaudibly. The chattering dispatch radio and the bizarrely gesturing man in the passenger seat made for an unsettling combination, as though Aaron were watching one TV show while listening to another. His jaw set in irritation at being treated like a chauffeur; he managed to relax it again by anticipating, with some pleasure, the ruckus that almost certainly result at the end of their ride, when this crazy damnyankee met the rest of the boys.


	3. Chapter 3

**Report # ARI-47023-TX-001**

**SA Jayden after-site notes:**_ Local law enforcement uncooperative. Unclear hiding something or incompetent._

* * *

><p>"We're just about there," Aaron announced as soon as he could see the faintest blur of the site on the horizon. The rest of the ride had been awkward, and the deputy had actually been looking longingly at his radio. His ID hadn't been called out over it, and nothing the dispatcher was saying sounded interesting in any way, but responding to almost <em>anything<em> would be a relief compared to sitting in silence next to the oddly gesticulating man next to him. It sounded like he'd even begun talking to himself. If only Aaron wouldn't have had to reach practically into the other man's lap to go after the radio.

"What?" Agent Jayden's head cocked towards him, quick as a bird's.

"We're just about on-site. Here we go." Aaron threw the cruiser into park. There was a cluster of vehicles in the middle of dusty nowhere. He wasn't sure if he could park any closer without screwing up the scene. "Just a bit of a walk." The FBI agent, thankfully, nodded in apparent understanding, and sprang out of the passenger side. Aaron spotted the sheriff - Walters - and pointed at him wordlessly, directing their walk in that direction. The FBI agent began to scurry his way ahead, still clutching that briefcase. They didn't even make it there before things began to fall apart.

"_John!_" Sheriff Walters sounded straight-up furious. "I thought I put you in charge of keeping out the rubberneckers!" Aaron watched his fellow deputy John - who was admittedly a moron - flinch and look around wildly. Walters was shoving one stubby finger straight at Norman Jayden, now. "_You!_ Who let you past the perimeter?! You better turn tail and get out of here _this everlovin' minute!_"

The recoiling FBI agent was holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield. "I'm – I came here with – I was riding with –" Aaron watched, bemusedly, as the agent flailed helplessly in the face of Walters' onslaught. Finally, Agent Jayden managed to make eye contact with Aaron and pointed, himself, at the deputy. "I'm sorry," he admitted, "I wasn't listening when he said his name –"

_Yeah_, Aaron thought, _I was pretty sure that you weren't_. He'd already gotten all of the enjoyment he was going to out of the confrontation; might as well come to the rescue. "It's Deputy Aaron Banks. It's all right, sir. This is Norman, with the FBI."

"Special Agent Norman Jayden," the FBI agent tried to correct him with a more formal version of his identity.

"Oh." Walters didn't look much friendlier, but he at least stopped charging towards Norman like a rhino. "You look like a dang reporter. We've had some of those turds out here from the Globe-News and all."

"I've been to Norman," John put in, unexpectedly. "In Oklahoma. Nice town."

Walters' full attention was immediately diverted. "John, get yourself back on watch." He glared after John as he wandered back to where the perimeter theoretically was.

"I need to work," the FBI agent said. "I need to –" He trailed off as he realized that pretty much everyone had lost interest in him, then finally met Aaron's amused eyes. "I need to put my briefcase somewhere."

At this point, Aaron decided he could be magnanimous. "Hand it over. I'll put it in the car. It'll be fine. Look around." Aaron waved his hand at the empty vista around them. "There ain't even anybody who _could_ take it." Norman looked, involuntarily, in John's direction, and Aaron got pissed off all over again. "I'll even lock the car for you so it'll be safe from all the hayseeds in the sheriff's department."

Norman didn't seem to notice the implication, but shoved the case at him. "Thank you. It _is_ important. I'd like to get to work." As soon as the handle was out of his hands, he was pulling out those glasses again, strolling away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sheriff Walters, arms folded, transferred his gaze from John back to Aaron. Just loud enough to be audible, he rumbled: "FBI must be getting pretty desperate for new recruits, you reckon?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Report # ARI-47023-TX-001**

**ASAIC H. Carruthers commentary: **_Agent Jayden's oral preliminary profiling has been left unedited by me. It is difficult to say how much he would choose to include in a final, edited report, and it is beyond my capabilities to determine how much of it is accurate or worthwhile._

**SA Jayden initial site notes:** _So much care taken, so much love, he had to hurt them, their worthless perfect bodies. I want a fresh one, I want a new one, I want to see if there's semen on them. He had to . . . ritual, perfect, ceremonial sex. With their worthless perfect bodies. He cut her, he cut this one, he had to see that sacred blood spill out_

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

"I follow you, Sheriff," Aaron said, diplomatically, as they together watched the FBI agent fuss with his sunglasses, his glove, tug on his sleeves to pull the lines of his wrinkled suit into shape. "I don't understand much of what he was talking about. You got a handle on that?"

Sheriff Joe Walters scratched furiously at his greying moustache, and Aaron was at this point so accustomed to the dandruff that would blizzard out under the other man's fingernails as a result of the process that he barely blinked. "Well," Walters drawled, "I only told the FBI what we got, really. What we found so far. I had to call all the way down to _Dallas_, would you believe it? Feds wouldn't even think about OK City, even though it's closer. Once I said we had four dead girls and Leonard couldn't tell us much about them, they said we shouldn't touch anything more until they sent someone over to check it out. Guess they jumped right to 'you got a serial killer.'" Walters twitched a few last shreds of skin off his upper lip, shrugging dismissively. "I don't know, son. The feds think this is something special."

"Mm," Aaron agreed. Silently, he agreed that doubting the opinion of the local medical examiner was probably justified. In Aaron's opinion, M.E. Leonard Henry had more than once just written off some questionable corpses as "natural causes" because his bowels were acting up in his old age and he didn't care enough to go through with an investigation. "Mr. Special Agent Norman Jayden, there, appears to believe that he's something mighty special, as well. I thought maybe he was crazy, but he says he's got I guess some hi-tech thing in his sunglasses. They got some little lights on the front."

"Ah, yeah," Walters agreed. He'd stopped scratching and was staring, hipshot, at the FBI agent. "That's a big deal, I guess. New. He's got a computer in his head or some such. But I don't really . . . what in . . ." Both men stared at the thin, dark-suited, dancing crow that was the FBI agent. "You seein' what I'm seein'?"

Aaron thoughtfully probed the jagged edge of a chipped tooth with his tongue. "Well, if I am, I guess it's good that you and me aren't crazy. But I guess it's bad that it means he probably is."

It did, actually, look a little bit like the FBI agent was dancing, or at least that he thought the ground might be dangerous. He was nearly on tiptoe in his dress shoes, which was impressive enough in itself, but he also appeared to be hopping gingerly from spot to spot as though he were attempting to avoid piles of dogshit, his gloved right hand shoving out in front of him, pushing something invisible away.

"What did I miss while picking up Mr. Computer?" Aaron asked, his head cocked in curiosity. Walters filled him in while they watched the dance continue. Norman Jayden danced a circle around the graves, in between them, bent into each one, backed up, stood still. Eventually, after Walters had stopped speaking, Norman pulled his glasses off and began walking back towards them, brow furrowed.

"God, here we go. What you need, then?" Joe Walters demanded as soon as Norman got close enough so the sheriff didn't have to shout. "I thought you was here to just forensic the evidence."

"I don't understand what has happened with the bodies. What has been done to or with the bodies, please?" Aaron repressed a smirk at the sight of Norman's lips pressed together disapprovingly as though he were a nun.

"We moved 'em when we needed to," Walters told him, arms folded over the top of his gut.

"That is _not_ helpful," the FBI agent snapped back. "I am trying to photograph and establish the crime scene, and –"

"Them women have been dead for twenty years, maybe more. What in god's name do you think you're looking for out there, footprints?"

"I _think_ I'm asking for what you did to the fucking _bodies_. I already know some white trash shit-for-brains ripped a hand off one, I want to know what else happened."

Walters was actually turning red. "Son, you are getting off on the wrongest of foots. You – "

"I got it, Joe." Much as he wanted to avoid involvement, this had immediately escalated to the point that Aaron decided that it was actually less unpleasant to intervene than to watch these two work themselves up into a full confrontation. "Norman? Let's walk back over to 'em and I'll show you." He'd missed much of the proceedings, but felt that Walters' rundown had given him a basic handle on the information. Norman Jayden sputtered for a few seconds, then followed. Sheriff Walters was content to glower after them.

"Stop," Norman commanded as they neared the graves. "Just stop there. I need to see the big picture. Just point."

"All right." Aaron froze in place was already tempted to regret volunteering for this. "What's the question?"

They were standing, essentially, at the base of a quarter-circle, with a right angle at their feet and to their left, the curve stretching from the right edge of that angle away from them. The center of the angle was a partially-excavated small hole at the bottom left, and four graves in various states made up the curve.

"Start me with Sam Corning."

It again took a few seconds for Aaron to connect the name. "Right. Well, Boom-boom pulled the hand off the one that was in there." He pointed to the grave second from the left, which was standing empty. "She was kind of a mummy. She's in the M.E.'s office, if you want to look at her. We found _her_ next." Aaron moved his finger to indicate the grave just to the right. It was empty as well, but there was a body bag sitting next to it. "She was mostly bones, and she's in that bag there. _She_ was the third –" he pointed now to the first grave to the left, which was similarly empty, with a similar body bag perched next to it, "And she's pretty much the same. Just bones, packed up in there if you want to look at her. Last one was the one still in the ground, there." Aaron pointed now to the last grave on the right, half-dug out, and holding something he didn't like looking at. "Guess you can see she's kind of a mummy, too. We left her in there in case you wanted a look at her as she is. Leonard said they're probably all women – he was kind of guessing, with the bones, but I guess there's something about the pelvis? Anyway, they been looking for other ones next to 'em, some kind of scanning thing, but they ain't got nothing else. Oh, except the stuff." Aaron pointed now to the tiny pit that all the graves were pointed towards. "Guess they got that half done, then decided to wait for you."

"Good, good." Norman Jayden was typing on that invisible keyboard again. "The first one is intact?"

"Don't know what the M.E. might have done with her. He ain't got cause of death or nothing, so I don't know if he did a full autopsy. Boom-boom pulled her hand off, remember, so she's . . . broken up a little."

"Yes, of course." Norman was already dancing a little bit again. "Thanks, don't need you any more. Let you know if I need you."

Aaron folded his arms. "Well. Yes, _sir_."

"Don't walk in front of me when you go."

"No, _sir_." Aaron stepped backwards, his eyebrows raised as he watched Norman Jayden dive towards the one grave still holding a desiccated body, hovering his hand over her face, then her torso. Aaron gave up, turned, and walked his way back to Sheriff Walters, who was still scowling, but no longer looked as though he was on the verge of exploding.

"What'd he want?" Walters asked.

"Just what we dug up when, I guess. I got no idea what he's doing now. He lost his luggage on the way here and I think he's still pitching a fit about it."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, that briefcase is all he got."

"Huh."

Aaron sighed. "Gonna check on John." John Williams, who Aaron was pretty sure was the dimmest deputy to ever disgrace the badge, was theoretically back on perimeter watch, but had wandered some distance off and pulled his gun out, squinting at it and fiddling. Aaron only made it halfway there.

"Deputy Banks!" When Aaron Banks looked back over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the FBI agent standing next to Walters. The Sheriff was waving him back; both men already looked irritated with each other. All right, well, if John blew off a few fingers, that'd just have to happen. Aaron strolled back.

"I don't have any connection!" Norman shouted at him as he neared them. He waved his folded sunglasses in the deputy's direction.

"What?" Aaron was already lost.

"I don't know what to tell him, Aaron," Walters drawled. There was a mean glint of pleasure in his eyes. "He says he doesn't know how to do his job."

"That is _not_ –" Norman sputtered. "The ARI can only hold so much information."

Aaron didn't want to ask, but did: "What are we talking about?"

"My glasses." Norman gestured with them again. "I scan information with them and I look it up in databases. But I need a wireless connection to the appropriate databases to get useful information, put the whole pattern together."

"Oh." Aaron looked to Walters for guidance, but none was apparently forthcoming. "Yeah, phones and such don't work real well out here. Gets better when you get into town. Should work at the Valentine."

"That's . . . that's impossible." Norman Jayden's pale eyes were squinting at him. "I'll have to do everything _twice_. I'll have to look at everything here, and then go somewhere else to be able to look it all up. It'll take . . . it'll take forever."

Walters scratched his nicotine-stained moustache again. "Impossible. Well, Aaron here can take you back to the airport, if you want. Since you got no luggage and you can't work under our, our – "

"Primitive conditions," Aaron put in helpfully.

"No! No." Norman Jayden was actually baring his teeth at this point. "No, I can do it, I can do this. It'll just take . . . I'll need . . . I need my luggage. I will need things in my luggage. I need it found as soon as possible." His attempt at authority was limp; the other two men simply stared at him until he turned and stalked away, muttering, pulling his sunglasses back on his face as he walked back to the still-occupied grave.

"Was he speaking English?" Walters asked. "Is that an accent that originates from the US of A?"

Aaron chuckled. "I think that might pass for English in some uncivilized part of the country."

"Christ on a crutch, where is that boy from? He sounds like Kennedy after a root canal."


	5. Chapter 5

**Report # ARI-47023-TX-001**

**ASAIC H. Carruthers commentary: **_It appears as though Special Agent Norman Jayden was already feeling unwell during his initial site investigation. It is unclear whether this was related to his ARI usage or other factors. He claims to have been sleep-deprived while making his initial notes._

**SA Jayden initial site notes:** _Don't barf. I think I know what they are. I think they're rattlesnakes and eagles. I think I know what this is, some of it. No, no, don't barf. Little dizzy. Get to somewhere where I can do a linkup for the ARI. I think it's rattlesnakes and eagles. Golden or bald. ARI will know._

* * *

><p>Whenever he had the ARI off, Jayden could hear his heart beating so loudly and quickly he was nearly afraid it was going to tear its way through his chest. He wasn't even sure if it was from terror or excitement. Terror, because he was afraid he was going to fuck this up. Excitement, because this was important enough for it to actually matter if he fucked up.<p>

This was his case, all his. The highway serial killing initiative had only been around for a few years, and his job out here was almost an afterthought on the FBI's part – checking out possible ancient history. These were old, old deaths, and all he had been asked to do was to record and log the evidence. But what he'd found was absolutely wild. For the last twenty-four hours, he'd been sucking down information from the ARI rather than sleeping. He'd crammed his brain full of all the potentially relevant cases he could find, and that's how he knew that what he was seeing here was different. This was _strange_. The highway serial killing initiative had joined together a long list of violent crimes, of many bodies, mostly women. But none of them looked like this. None of them had this kind of care, this kind of methodology. This was special, maybe unique. And it was all his. It was his very own thing to record and create.

They were all women; Jayden would swear on that. And the one body he had that was mostly complete and still in the ground, the one that Deputy Banks had referred to as a mummy, her throat was cut. She'd been sliced open right through the neck – not just the carotid, which would have killed her, but her windpipe as well. It would have taken brutal, _brutal_ force to make that injury. The bones might be identifiable, but the semi-preserved corpses were giving him what he really needed. He was betting that if the other bodies were more intact, they would have shown similar wounds.

He crept his gloved hand into the first body bag, stroking those lonely bones to record their DNA. Definitely female, though he couldn't get much else without his uplink. Once he was sure he had a picture, he moved to the second one and recorded her, too, then returned to the half-mummified corpse still in the ground. He gently recorded her injuries from every angle possible with his eager, gloved hand. She'd been chewed on by something, no question, but that looked like it was post-mortem. The wicked cut across her leathery throat was what had taken her out. He had to look away from her gaping jaw, its tendons stretched wide by dehydration; it made her look as though she were screaming at him.

These were ritual burials. He'd swear on that, too. He scurried towards the pit that their feet were all pointing towards. There really was a jumble of objects in there; much as he wanted to be disgusted by the deputy's sloppy description of what had been found, he had to admit that it was hard to categorize the items there. There were a number of tiny, fragile, splintered bones tangled together in there, among the other debris. Fortunately, he had a huge amount of general DNA information permanently sunk into the glasses; he kept it all there so he could always be sure whether he were looking at human or animal remains. There was a tarnished silver chain-link necklace in there holding a string of tiny vertebrae, vertebrae which had clearly used to be attached to ribs that were now snapped off. They turned out to be reptilian, and Jayden was guessing they were from a snake, though he'd have to wait for an uplink opportunity to verify that and figure out a species. The small, splintered bones that were held together with a rotting leather cord turned out to be avian, though Jayden again couldn't nail down a species without access to the larger, more specific database hovering out there beyond his reach without an electronic connection.

He fished his gloved hand deeper into the hole. There was more jewelry in there, jewelry that had probably belonged to the bodies settled around it. Jayden didn't know a damn thing about jewelry in general, and certainly not enough to pull anything identifying off these pieces. He thought they looked cheap – a brass bracelet, some glass earrings with french hooks – and he doubted he'd be able to get anything off them that would help with personal identification, though they might nail down the year. He scanned them, recorded their presence, and moved on to the coins. He kept up a narration of what he saw as he went, absentmindedly.

He took another photo of the scene with his ARI, then began digging the coins out with his ungloved hand. When the hard-baked ground refused to yield to his fingers, he dipped into his pocket for his keys, and started using them to lever the coins out of the ground. He dumped all of them into their own little pile, discovered some more jewelry as he did so, started a pile for that as well. He found a few feathers, as well, scanned them and shoved them into the bones. He ended up with sixteen quarters, and was pretty sure that was all there was. Sixteen quarters, all dated 1990. Sixteen years ago.

"There are twelve more bodies," he murmured to himself. He could almost see the big picture. Almost. "There are _supposed_ to be twelve more bodies." Whoever had done this had a big picture in mind, as well. Maybe he had carried through with his plan, maybe not. Jayden needed a map of the county, now. This was _not_ going to be the only burial site. There would be others.

He was going to have to look all this up when he could get a signal again. He was going to be in the ARI for hours and hours. And that meant he needed the triptocaine. He was going to need a _lot_ of triptocaine, if he was going to have to do all this twice, and most of it was in his lost luggage. His briefcase held a few tubes hidden in the lining, but he'd stored the bulk of his stash in his suitcase. Bones, coins, feathers. Women in the ground. Women in bags. Women with their throats cut. No databases. Just record. Record. Record.

"Norman? Norman Jayden?" It took him a minute to realize his name was being called. It was that stupid sheriff's deputy.

"Mmmm?" he responded, digging into the ground again with his keys.

"You all right?" Jayden looked up into the deputy's face, shaded by his wide-brimmed hat. "It's just you ain't moved for an hour."

"An hour?" Jayden was already fumbling at his face. The ARI was backing up the deputy's claim.

"Yessir," the deputy confirmed, and Jayden pulled the ARI off his face. As soon as he did so, he became aware that his right hand was trembling. Just the right, not both. Not yet. How could he have been doing this for an hour?

"Sabathroom?" Jayden asked, and realized he was slurring.

"You what, now?" Deputy Aaron Banks was peering at him.

Jayden made himself slow down, enunciate. He had some tripto in his inside breast pocket, but if he could just wash his hands and face, he might not have to use it. "Is. There. A. Bathroom."

"Oh." Banks gestured with his chin. "Porta John, over there. Like I said, there ain't nothing out here."

Jayden let himself look up and towards the chemical toilet, groaning inwardly. No running water. He wasn't even sure if he was going to make it up and there, and inside, he'd just have to shove the tripto up his nose. He racked his brain for options; with the ARI off, he could tell it was burned out. "Gotta motel."

"You want to hit the Valentine?" Banks asked.

"Yeah." Jayden squinted against the sun. "Connection." He hesitated, then continued: "Help me up." He held out his arms for assistance.

Banks, clearly surprised, grabbed his wrists. Jayden grabbed back, wobbling slightly as he made it to his feet. He definitely needed a break. Between the ARI, the trip, the anxiety over his luggage, the excitement of the excavation, and his lack of sleep, he could tell he wasn't going to be able to control that trembling hand until he got either sleep or tripto. Either one would do, but there was no privacy here for him to snort up unless he locked himself in the Porta John. It took a few seconds before he realized that damn deputy was asking him a question.

"Sir. Norman. Are you all right?" Banks was still holding on to his upper arm, and had another arm spread wide, as though he were afraid Jayden would simply fall down.

"I am absolutely fine," Jayden snapped at him. "I _really _need my suitcase. _Shit_."

"Well. All right. Car's just over there. Let's get to the Valentine." Banks released him, cautiously.

Jayden nodded, and shoved both hands deep into his pants pockets to disguise the slight tremors he was still having. It was safer to not talk at all.

"Why's the suitcase a problem?" Banks asked. "I thought all your notes were in your glasses."

"They are, I just need other stuff in there besides my clothes." Jayden knew he was staggering slightly, and attempted to slow his pace so it was harder to detect. "It'll make things more difficult if I don't have it."


End file.
